Tuesday’s News

Tim was anxious. He fiddled around with his phone, constantly checking the time. As he nursed a glass of Cutty Sark, he wondered why Terra had chosen to meet up with him at a bar she hated. Every time Tim suggested going to The Hole for drinks, Terra would complain or mutter something about how it was nothing but a shit hole bar for degenerates. The Hole may have been in need of a little love and care, but it was the same bar both his father and grandfather went to. Tim’s family didn’t have many traditions, so The Hole always felt like a special place.

He excused himself to the bathroom to do a quick once-over: his hair was neat, albeit shaggy, and he had the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow growing on his face. A faded Nirvana shirt was neatly tucked into the waist of his black jeans, his boots had just been polished yesterday. He then breathed into the cup of his hand and inhaled, checking to see if he had bad breath. Everything seemed good to go. Back at his table, Terra had arrived and sat herself. Their eyes met.

“Have a seat, Timmy”, she said as she motioned him towards a chair.

Tim sat down and offered to order Terra a drink, “what are you having tonight?”.

“Look, I don’t have much time, so let’s get to the point. We’re done, Timmy”.

Terra had been distant for the past two weeks, so this news didn’t come as a complete surprise to him. Still, he wanted an answer. He took a long drink of his scotch, exhaled, and took a moment to reflect.

“So that’s it, then? Two and a half years, all the plans we made, just like that? Done?” He took another drink.

Terra scoffed. “I’m tired of waiting for you to get your shit together. You’re in your thirties, and you have roommates for fuck’s sake! Why don’t you have an actual career? You went to college for nothing, just wasting away at that restaurant while you work on your shitty songs and terrible writing and honestly, I’m just fucking sick of it Timmy and I’m sick of you”, she said.

Tim felt his chest tighten. Terra always seemed like his biggest supporter, yet here she was, trashing his work. “You really think my stuff is no good? I thought you–”

Terra cut him off, “If you put as much effort into finding a real job as you did your material, we’d probably be married with our own place. I fucking can’t with you anymore, Timmy”.

“I see”, Tim responded. He finished the rest of his scotch and pushed the glass aside, tapping his finger on the table. “Terra, I love you. Please.”

Terra got up and pushed her chair in, “I held on as long as I could because the sex was great and sometimes you’re fun to be around. But this isn’t the life I want or deserve. I live for my timeline, not yours. Grow the fuck up, Timmy. Stop being white trash like the rest of your family”, she said as she walked away.

Tim stared at the door. He hoped she’d come back, but he knew the truth. He’d never see her again. Terra was always a step ahead, so she was probably fucking somebody else by now, too. There would be no more road trips, no movie nights, no late-night drives to the beach. He’d no longer smile at the way her nose crinkled when she laughed, and her smell would eventually fade from his bedsheets.

After Tim ordered another double from the bartender, he walked over to the jukebox and scrolled through some of his favorites; Social Distortion, Chris Cornell, The Bootstraps, but nothing caught his interest. He thought it might be best to take in the natural sounds of bar chatter and the humming of ceiling fans.

It was going to be a long night.

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